


To Many Days

by WingedChickadee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Just a lot of sadness, Season 3 Episode 11 AU, mystery spot au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 19:23:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7451101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingedChickadee/pseuds/WingedChickadee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam didn't suffer 100 Tuesday's and six months without his brother, he suffered years.</p><p>This is a short AU one-shot based off of season three episode 11, Mystery Spot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Many Days

All Sam wanted to do was investigate the disappearance of one stupid old man. That's all he wanted. But no, this stupid town and stupid mystery spot decided to fuck that plan. It took seven days for him to fully accept that he was in some sort of time loop; seven times he saw his brother die in front of him. 

"Rise and shine Sammy!" That single short sentence, the cheerfulness ironic to what the day will do to Dean later. 

Sam let's out a deep sigh and sits up in a slow manner, giving his older bother a tired smile in response. It's been almost sixty Tuesday's and it hasn't gotten any easier to look his brother in the eye. He stopped telling him about the time loop around day fifty. It was just to painful to hear his brother say everything would be alright, only for him to die so soon after. 

Nothing life ending happens to Dean as they walk out of their hotel room and towards the diner. As soon as they step into the diner though, the entire thing explodes. It isn't instant, the reset. Sam was thrown from the building and he had to listen to his brother's agonizing screams as the fires consumed him in the most painful way possible, and eventually, killed the elder Winchester. 

"Rise and shine Sammy!" 

It takes seven hundred and thirty days, roughly two years, for something to finally change. Seven hundred and thirty days of soul crushing, mind destroying Tuesday's. Around the first year, Sam stopped trying to save him in any way. He just resigned himself to spending as much time as he could with his brother. Whether it was them just watching whatever was on the television, to going to to park. Sometimes they just relaxed. 

Now, something finally changed and gave Sam a renewed sense of hope. Maybe he can actually get out of this time loop. A long dead hope sputtering to life deep inside him.

On the previous Tuesday, Dean had broken the norm and talked to the lady he always bumped into into. Now, on this current Tuesday, something changed. The man that sat across from them at the bar had always had maple syrup, and he just used strawberry. That man was aware of the time loop! He must be. That is the only explanation. 

Before Sam can do a thing, the loop resets. He sits up to the sound of Asia and his brother, a look of determination on his face. He knows what he has to do, and nothing will stop him. 

So when the grey haired man stands up and walks out of the diner, Sam is quick to follow. He leaves Dean in confusion, who struggles to catch up, and chases down the man. A wooden stake in his hand to kill the son of a bitch. 

"Sam. Sammy! Calm down. What is going on man?" Dean calls from behind him as he is following Sam down the street at break neck speed. 

Sam, ignoring his older brother, pins the man in the beige coat against the fence and holds a stake to his neck. He ignores Dean's protests. Sam knows he hasn't lost his mind, that is something that he is steadfast on. No matter what happened these past seven hundred and thirty Tuesday's, he only cracked twice. He can only commit mass murder a couple times before its pointless. He's sane, and completely focused on the task at hand. Getting out. 

"I've been in this loop for almost two years worth of Tuesday's, I will notice if something changes! You, you changed your syrup. I know what you are." 

"W-wait, two years Sammy?!" Dean exclaims next to him, and Sam, well he still ignored his brother. To focused on the grey haired man in front of him. 

Soon enough, his theory was proven right. The trickster they thought they had killed appears in front of him. Guess they have to revaluate how to kill their kind. Sam yells more. He wants out, he wants this damn time loop to end. 

"It would just be easier to kill you now," he growls lowly at the Trickster, "That way I know it ends." 

The Trickster gives Sam a playful smirk and chuckles. "Sorry Sammy, can't be having that." Then all Sam hears in a snap of fingers and he feels his back on the uncomfortable bed he's gotten used to. 

"But you'd better promise me I'll be back in time.  
Got to get back in time."

Except something is different. No Asia, and no Dean saying rise and shine. His eyes snap open and he looks around frantically. He sees Dean in the bathroom then his gaze immediately snaps to the cheap clock next to him. Wednesday. It's Wednesday! 

"It's Wednesday!" Sam exclaims in a soft tone as he swings his long legs off of the old bed, feeling the happiest he has since they got here. He sits on his bed just smiling. "No Asia."

"Dude, I know. This station sucks." Dean wipes his face off and gives Sam an odd look. 

"It's Wednesday," Sam repeats as if in shook. He is. He did it. They're out, they're out of that time loop. 

"Yeah, sorta comes after Tuesday," Dean gives him another odd look and walks a bit over to him. "Jeez, how many Tuesday's did you have man?"

"Lost count man." A simple answer and Dean accepts it at that. Must've been a lot, but, Sam seems happy and alright so everything must be okay. Sam pulls away and moves to change his clothes, unzipping his duffle bag.

"I'll go pack the car then," Dean states as he picks up the duffle bags near the door and walking out of Sam's sight. 

Then the unthinkable happens and Sam's world shatters again. He is zipping up his duffle bag, just smiling happily to himself. Then, bang. A sound he heard every so often during the two years from hell. It can't be-Dean! 

Sam sprints full force out of the room and to the stairs looking down at the parking lot. No. No! He sees Dean on the ground and blood quickly forming a dark stain on his chest. The youngest Winchester's brain barely processes what occurred before he is by his brother's side.

"Dean! Dean..Dean no.." He hugs Dean close to his chest, rocking them back and forth. He closes his eyes expecting, no hoping, that he'll soon hear that blasted Asia music or-or just something coming from that stupid radio in their room. He opens his eyes to a painful and soul crushing silence. 

He looks down at Dean's closed eyes and still chest, unable to stop the tears pouring down his cheeks. "No..I'm supposed to wake up!" He screams to the heavens, hoping that if there are angels, one of them is listening. That maybe even God hears his desperate pleas and brings his brother back.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this. We made it to Wednesday.." 

Once the shock wears off, as much as it could, he gently lays Dean back on the ground and walks up to their room. He grabs sheets off the bed and the rest of their-his, duffle bags. He wraps Dean he slowly in the sheets and lays him in the back seat of his baby. God. Dean would be pissed if he got blood stains in the Impala. 

Then Sam calls Bobby. The one person left who can provide guidance. There were no Winchesters left, in all their stubborn glory, to help him. 

"Bobby, Dean is dead," he sobs into the phone. Dean's body is behind him in the car, like a constant haunting presence. 

"Slow down boy, what do ya mean Dean is dead?" 

Sam explains everything to the man who he saw as just as much as his father as his own. Sometimes more than John. Bobby listens and provides comfort; he hates how far he is from Sam. So many states and so many miles away. To far to help.

"You gotta give him a Hunter's funeral boy, Deam woulda wanted that." 

That just causes Sam to sob harder. He can't do that to Dean, not when he has a chance. He is going to find the Trickster, and make him undo this. 

"No. No Bobby. Not just yet, because, in going to find the Trickster and make him being Dean back!"

So Sam just drives, and drives and drives and drives. Until he finds an empty field off the side of the road somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Then he digs. He refuses to salt and burn Dean. Not ever. Not when there is a small chance to bring him back. So just he digs. 

When Dean is buried Sam let's himself cry some more. His brother, his best friend, is dead and gone. This was all his fault, Sam rationalizes, and he can't think of a reason it isn't. If he hadn't brought them to that hunt, they never would have gotten stuck. Maybe if he had handled the situation with the Trickster better, Dean would still be alive. If he had just...been a better little brother..

He burns the path to Dean's burial site in his mind, and leaves. The guilt of his brother's murder resting heavy on him. If only he had been more careful.

It's been six months and he hasn't found a damn thing on the Trickster. Sure there have been bits and clues. Probably bait for him. Then nothing. It all just stops, ceases to be, jack shit. It's like the Trickster got board and moved on. Maybe he did. Sam refuses to believe he lost he only shot he had at getting his brother back. 

He stares at the board covered in string and papers. Pictures of the Trickster and string linking his last known locations. Along with stuff from hunts he has done. So many hunts, just to drown out Dean's voice. It doesn't work. All he can hear as he kills the supernatural is his brother's voice, telling him what he did wrong. Nothing works to silence him. 

The first Christmas is hard without Dean. There still has been nothing on the Trickster after the first six months. So Sam spends his Christmas alone in his ratty motel room, nursing a bottle while he stares at the notes in front of him. Wishing for something that will never happen. 

He raises his bottle to the ceiling, then chuckling to him, lowers it in a similar manner towards the floor. Taking a rather large swig of it when he brings it to his lips. 

"Merry Christmas Dean."

It's been two years and he hasn't given up yet. He sits in front of the makeshift cross he made for Dean's ragtag burial site. The amulet hanging heavy on his neck as he looks at the cross. He lets himself cry for the first time in the year since he last visited.

"Dean I'm so sorry I haven't found him yet," Sam cries into his hands as disappointment in himself builds. "I can't even do something as simple as save you. What kind of brother am I?!" 

After hours of just sitting there, alternating between silence and sobbing, the remaining Winchester stiffly stands. Pain spiking from a fresh injury on his left leg. Nothing new. Moving back to the Impala, Sam drives off to continue his crusade to find the Trickster. No matter what it costs him. 

After four years, hunting alone feels sickly natural to Sam. He hates that. He hates the fact that it isn't odd for him to not immediately call out for Dean if something is to strong to fight. Yeah, he still does it sometimes. Of course he does. He still will accidentally say a table for two, instead of one. When he is not paying attention, or tired, he will get in the passenger seat. It always takes him a bit to realize why Dean hasn't gotten in yet. 

Most of Dean's clothes have lost the smell that was always quintessential Dean. Leather, gun powder, and sometimes on some clothes, a faint scent of pie. Luckily most of them didn't have the lingering smell of perfume from whoever the last woman he saw was.

Now has so many scars from the first years that he's sure Dean wouldn't even recognize him. It took him two years to get even moderately used to Dean not being there. Sam hasn't looked in a mirror longer than he has too to shave, no point. 

All that would be staring back would be a hallow shell of what he used to be. A sad lonely man. One who hasn't contacted his father figure since that one call, one that seems so much longer than four years ago. Almost an eternity.

It's been long it has been since he called Bobby. He's gotten his voicemails; the guilt he has been feeling for the five years Dean died, hurting more and more with each painful voicemail he hears. He just took to many hits, lost so much blood. Sam is in South Dakota, hell, he is sure Bobby is like over the hill. So he calls him, just to hear his voice one last time. So he doesn't die alone. Bobby picks up immediately and starts to yell, but then he hears Sam. He hears the brokenness in his voice, laced heavily with pain from all of his wounds. 

"B-Bobby, I need help.. Werewolf near your town got me.." 

The old Hunter is to the remaining Winchester faster than you could shake a stick. Stitching his wounds in the parking lot of a camp site as the blood just seems to never stop. Bobby refuses to lose another one of these boys. Sam has to live. He carries the giant to his truck, careful not to disturb the hash mash field job he did to the cuts.

"No..don't leave the Impala behind," Sam mumbles as Bobby drives as fast as he can towards his house, "It's Dean's baby..I can't leave it.." 

Bobby's heart breaks just a little bit more at how desperate Sam sounds. Like he is leaving behind his brother in that parking lot. He gets to his house minutes after Sam passes out in the back. Faster than ever he carries the tall man into his house and lays him down on the couch. Redressing and stitching the deep cuts on his chest and arms. He holds back the shock at just how many scars Sam has across his chest; just focusing on the medical treatment he has to give him. 

Bobby stares down at the sleeping man, after he finishes his medical work. All the time he wishes he could see the same young smiling face he used to. Back before all of the hunting, hell, even back before Sammy had died and Dean had made his deal. Even when hunting, Sam would get this look of happiness on his face when they talked about the lives they saved. Especially when that older brother of his gave him praise. Bobby missed those days. 

The next morning Bobby hitches a ride back to the parking lot where they left the impala. Getting help from a hunter passing through, they take care of the werewolf that almost offed the remaining Winchester. Then he drives the black car back to his repair yard with as much care as he can. It was the least he could do for Sam. 

When Sam wakes up he looks straight into Bobby's eyes and the deadness in them chill the old Hunter to his very soul. He hides his panic and fear behind a wall of cold. 

"I got the Impala, it's in the yard. Oh, and I took care of the werewolf." 

"Thanks Bobby.." Sam states quietly, looking down at his hand. The young man takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself, then spills a secret that has been weighing on him for two years. 

"I salted and burned his body Bobby." 

Just that small sentence is enough to send the last Winchester into gut wrenching sobs. The emotionless facade he had been building up over the five years cracking to easily. He gave up on Dean, on finding the Trickster. He regrets it everyday; the guilt of the act eating him alive.

Bobby doesn't know what to say, or if he should even say a thing. He just stares at the young man in front of him, seeing instead, a young boy crying about having to leave to go hunting. The one who only left because his older brother convinced him to. 

Sam stops his sobs and looks up at Bobby with eyes that tell his emotions like a book. No longer are they just dead, they are swimming with guilt and shame. He mumbles a quiet apology and limps off to the old hunter's library. Burying himself and his feelings into just reading. 

The next day Bobby wakes up to a silent house with a note on his table that just said, I'm sorry. Bobby knew the man wouldn't stay, but, he can't lie to himself and say he didn't hope he would.

Sam looks up at the stars as he smells the familiar smell of burning bones. His whole body feels numb as he slowly feels more and more tired. It's ironic, he's dying near the anniversary of Dean's death while wearing on his his jackets. A simple salt'n burn turned out not to be so simple. Of course. 

His hand sits limply on his stomach, barely applying pressure to the wound that is quickly bleeding out. Why should he. It's been six years and life has been hell. Well. Dean was actually in hell so Sam's life couldn't have been worse than that. He's just been going on autopilot since Dean died. All the time, slowly losing his mental battle with the ever increasing guilt he felt after he salted and burned Dean's remains three years ago. Or it could've started from when Dean first died so long ago. 

Sam, despite how fast he was fading, hears footsteps approaching. What catches him off guard is that there is no sounds of panic. No screaming for 911 to be called or for him to hang on. The person simply places a hand gently on his forehead. A comforting gesture. Something he's hasn't felt since Dean died. He didn't let those happen from anyone who somehow got close. 

"I'm sorry Sam. It was never meant to last this long. I did something stupid, got hurt, and had to sleep. I'm sorry. Six years, fuck." 

Sam forces his eyes open at the familiar voice. No. The Trickster, the monster he gave up searching for years ago, is kneeling above him. He can't force his mouth to say anything besides a weak noise. His entire body is to numb to lift a hand. He wants to strangle the man above him, but he can't. Everything is to cold and distant. Only the anger he shoved away boiling up gives him any feeling. 

The Trickster gives him what may be a sad smile, but Sam's eyes were already closing. "This joke has gotten old, it got old awhile ago." Joke, what joke? The anger still burns even as he feels everything grow even more cold. 

Then everything goes black for Sam, the presence on his forehead and the Trickster's voice the last thing he remembers.

"But you'd better promise me I'll be back in time.  
Got to get back in time."

Sam slowly opens his eyes as he hears the music. It's so familiar, and haunting. Whenever it came on the radio, like Heat of the Moment, he would switch it immediately. It's the song that played on that Wednesday. What did the Trickster do?!

"What, are you going to sleep in all day?" A voice calls out accusingly yet still with a joking tone from across the room. 

Sam's entire body freezes at that voice. He hasn't heard it in six years. It can't be. The past six-no. It can't. It is impossible. This is just a trick. The Trickster did something, it has to just be another illusion. He's heard this voice in his nightmares, and sometimes when he drank to much. But this, this is to real.

"Sammy. Come on man, I know you're awake." The voice calls out again, it's time a little less joking now. 

The poor youngest Winchester feels like his entire world is crashing down around him. The entire time he was alone, it was just another trick. Or is this a trick. So he sits up with a foreign faint pain in his chest, and sees his older brother Dean staring at him. Sam wants to believe it's real. He desperately wants to. All he can say now is two words though with a voice matching six plus years of hell.

"It's Wednesday."

Dean gives him an odd look. "Yeah, man. Wednesday usually follows after Tuesday." The eldest Winchester frowns slightly at Sam's voice. It isn't the same as the one he had yesterday, how many Tuesday's did his baby brother go through to make him sound so..broken?

Sam stands slowly off of the bed and runs over to Dean, hugging him tightly. Only having the slight acknowledgement that he doesn't have a limp anymore.

"Jeeze, how many Tuesday's did you have Sammy?" Dean asks with a forced joking tone to his voice. He can't let Sammy know how worried he is, not when his brother clearly needs him to be strong. 

Sam just tightens his arms around Dean's neck, burying his head into his brother's shoulder. He doesn't respond for a few minutes. Sam needs his brother to be close, needs him to just be alright. To be..real. 

"To many," Sam finally answers. His voice cracking ever so slightly at the end. He pulls back from Dean and meets his eyes.

Dean's heart stops in its tracks when he sees Sam's eyes. Cold and despondent, more so than his voice. They shouldn't look like this, Dean can't accept that something terrible happened to his Sammy. Maybe he went though more Tuesday's then he originally thought. He has to help his little brother through the pain, without chick flick moments. He'll just be there for him; silent and strong. 

"I'll go pack the car."

Those five words break Sam out of the small case of shock he was in. He shakes his head furiously m. "No, you're not. We'll go together." His voice is full of desperation and yet, to Dead, sounds a lot like their Dad whenever he gave them an order in the middle of a hunt going to hell. It awakens something inside Dean, absolute and utter fear. Not for his life, but in regards to what just happened to Sam. What made his nerdy little brother become so similar to their dad. Someone he always fought to be different from..

Dean puts his hands up in a peaceful meaning gesture. "Alright. We'll go together." He will ask Sam later about what happened, otherwise it will drive him mad. 

They pack their duffles as fast as they can, not saying a word to each other. Dean every few seconds glances over at his baby brother. Worry flickering off of him. Sam seems so different than he did a day ago. Sam stands and looks around the room, hoping and praying silently.

"Did something else happen during the Tuesday's Sam?" Dean asks before he can stop himself. 

"Just a weird dream," Sam replies sullenly, forcing a small smile on his face for his brother. 

Dean frowns internally, just letting a playful smile show instead. "Clowns or midgets?" 

Sam just shakes his head and walks towards the door, counting in his head. The man with the gun should be gone by now, if not, he has six years worth of practice to take care of him. Fate must want to test him, because in the parking lot is the man that murdered Dean six years-no..it wasn't six years ago. It technically never happened, Sam reminds himself bitterly. 

The man points the gun at them as the walk towards their car. "G-give me your wallets!" He is shaking and jittery, he doesn't want to shoot someone, he just needs the cash. 

Sam is in front of him faster than Dean could blink. The youngest Winchester wrenches the gun from the shaking man's loose grip. Then just for good measure and a bit of payback, jabs him as hard as possible in the neck. 

The poor jittery man runs out of the parking lot like hellhounds are chasing him. Stumbling over himself as he tries to out run the giant with the cold dead eyes. 

Dean looks at Sam with wide eyes, the stillness of his brother's posture sending chills up his spine. This is not the same man he has been hunting with for three years; Sam was never that..methodical. He would've tried to talk it out, not attack the guy without a word. 

"Sammy..what happened to you?" Dean whispers mostly to himself, knowing Sam did hear him though. 

The younger brother turns as slow as possible to look at Dean. In no way is he able, or wanting, to hide the absolute desolation and sadness in his eyes. He takes a deep, melancholy breath, and says seven words that break his brother's heart.

"To many days to talk about, Dean."


End file.
